Persephone
Above, flowers stir and wake in my presence.
They welcome me home with bright petals.
The sun grows joyous at my return.
Wood added to a fire, it seems to burn brighter.
A warmth born of Hestia's hearth blooms through my chest.
It is a pulse.
A paintbrush - Green spilling through dry grass far as the eye can see.
The sky unburdens itself of rain.
The world is filled with adoration.
Though below,
I know Husband Hades awaits with a comforting chill in his hands.
His arms are open wide.
Even when the sun is blown out like a match,
it gives way to a night, where the quiet restores the body.
Hypnos. Nyx. Morpheus. A restful darkness.
The hearth does not die down.
Fences fall. Stone walls crumble. The fire inside lives on.
Grass, although gone, gives way to the clear, sweet waters of oath-bound Styx.
Ancient. Familiar.
It whispers of my return.
The sky breaks open, weeping until the fields drown in nourishment.
Dark or light,
Winter or spring,
Life or death,
Everywhere Persephone goes,
The hearth only seems to burn brighter.
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